


His Dark Consort

by IvoryRaven



Series: Tomarry/Harrymort one-shots [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Evil Harry Potter, Insane Harry Potter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvoryRaven/pseuds/IvoryRaven
Summary: Albus Dumbledore brings his forces to fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort. He didn't expect a young man claiming to be the Dark Lord's lover to be there.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Tomarry/Harrymort one-shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684411
Comments: 3
Kudos: 480





	His Dark Consort

**Author's Note:**

> I just started typing and this came out. I hope you enjoy it!

Jewelled leather boots. Black leather trousers. A belt with a buckle that looked suspiciously like a snake. A rich green, form-fitting top, partially covered with an elegant leather jacket. Shining, ethereal emerald eyes.

He stood in front of most of an army. A battle was being waged around him, the Light side’s forces against what the Dark had sent in advance. The goal was not to allow their enemies the relief of instant death.

That would be far, far too merciful.

“You call him your lover?” Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was aghast. “Surely he does not love you, child. You are so young, and does he not raise his wand against you?”

The young man standing before him chuckled darkly. “Oh, he does raise his wand - but not the one you’re thinking of.”

“Surely he does not demand-”

“I give,” interrupted the young man. “My body is his fortress; he is welcome to it.”

“You are being taken advantage of!” protested the old wizard. He seemed as though he wanted to both run forward and embrace the young man, or kill him, stamping him out like an unpleasant insect.

There was an otherworldly gleam in those emerald eyes, a fire that couldn’t be extinguished. It didn’t look quite sane, and spoke of deadly power. “Oh, no, Albus. Quite the contrary - I beg for him.”

“We will give you sanctuary,” offered the Head of the Order of the Phoenix. “You will be safe.”

The young man smirked, those blasted, terrifying eyes gleaming.. “I am never as safe as I am when my Lord holds me to his side.”

The wizened blue eyes opened, wide and horrified, but they barely had time to comprehend what was happening before the young man said, in a cool, deadly voice, quiet, carried across the battlefield by the force of the magic behind it, “Avada Kedavra.”

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, dropped dead at the hands of the leather-clad man standing at the front of the Dark Lord’s forces.

The Dark Army parted, and a black-cloaked figure stepped through as if he was walking to an altar. Bows spread through the Dark Army in a ripple, every soldier kneeling at the presence of their Lord and Master. Once he reached the side of Albus Dumbledore’s vanquisher, the wizard took the younger man’s hand, and waved his bone-white wand.

The two wizards were lifted off the ground by a pillar that seemed to spontaneously sprout from the dirt. The pillar gleamed the same ebony as the young man’s hair, and twisted around like a snake climbing a tree. There were shining green jewels, too, in pairs of two, and the pillar looked for all the world to be made of a mass of coiling snakes, all staring at the nervous onlookers.

“Surrender!” called Lord Voldemort. “Resistance is futile! Drop your weapons!”

The Light Army did, with a clatter of metal and wood hitting the dusty ground, and some number of stifled sobs as the truth of what had happened really sunk in. Sad as they may be, no one wanted to be the next victim of the Dark Lord’s famed wrath.

“Detain them,” the Dark Lord Voldemort ordered his forces. “Lucius, Fenrir, oversee the operation and ensure justice.”

The Dark Lord’s Lieutenants bowed.

The Dark Lord turned to face the younger, shorter man beside him. “Wonderful things you said to him,” he murmured, and they both knew what he meant.

“Revenge is delicious,” replied the younger man, and Voldemort hummed in agreement. Then he was smiling, a wicked thing.

“Those things you said to him,” he said, “care to show me what you meant? Are you ready for me now?”

“I am always ready,” breathed the younger man. Lord Voldemort Apparated the both of them directly to the bedroom.

“I wonder about you sometimes,” Lord Voldemort murmured between kisses. “How could you love me, despite what I have done?”

“The world is not perfect,” whispered the younger man, sliding his hand into Voldemort’s robes, popping the buttons out of their holes one by one. “You are all that is left for me.”

“You had the mudblood and the Weasley boy,” the Dark Lord reminded his lover.

The emerald-eyed man smiled, a sadistic thing. Cruel, with a side of insanity.

“They were never mine. They were Dumbledore’s. Still,” he hissed, “after today there is nothing to stop us.”

“I killed your parents,” Lord Voldemort reminded him.

“And who were they to me? Strangers. I did not know them, I have no reason to mourn or regret their deaths. It would be terrible if I did, for if they had lived I would not be at your side now.”

“Ruling what is now a whole continent.”

“Yes. I have always been yours, my Lord. Ever since you gave me your own soul I have been marked out for you.”

“A special thing you turned out to be,” mused Lord Voldemort, pulling the younger man’s shirt off.

“I would like quite a different part of you now,” said the younger man quietly.

Lord Voldemort’s eyes gleamed with arousal, and with a flick of his wand the rest of their garments vanished. 

The two lovers tore together like ocean waves colliding. Their union was every bit as powerful as a strike of lightning, a hurricane beating down upon land, a tornado tearing through flimsy creations and rendering them debris.

Their passionate lovemaking was fierce, muscles flexing, blood pumping, the slick slip of skin on skin. Theirs was an age-old dance of domination and submission, tender kisses, screaming coils of pleasure. Their limbs tangled together; from the outside, there was no distinguishing whose arms and legs were whose.

When they had both found release, Lord Voldemort held his Consort to his chest. The man who had once been the boy Savior, Harry Potter, or the Dark Prince, as he had come to be called, snuggled in, his actions lethargic in post-orgasmic bliss.


End file.
